


the darkness hums

by Arcane_Apparition



Series: What Caused the Wound? How Large the Teeth? [1]
Category: The Wayhaven Chronicles (Interactive Fiction)
Genre: Anxiety, Creepy, Demonic Possession, F/M, Implied/Referenced Character Death, It is now, Manipulation, Murder, The character death is like, a tentative warning the ending is open but I want people to be able to avoid this if they want, abby doubts herself because of anxiety, ambiguous ending, dark!Nate, demon!nate does a lot of lying, high rating and archive warnings are for the next chapter, im trying to tag things that come up, is that a tag?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-18
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:26:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27622693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arcane_Apparition/pseuds/Arcane_Apparition
Summary: There was a part of Abby, deep down, that knew something was wrong as soon as they’d left.Unit Bravo had been sent away on a mission. Something about a demonic infestation a few towns over that proved to be too much to handle for the lower-ranked team originally sent out. Patrol schedules were swapped so Wayhaven was still guarded -so she was still guarded, and they were gone.They’d only been gone for five days. Nothing out of the ordinary. They’d been gone longer before, longer periods of radio silence. Nothing about this should have been difficult for a group like them.And yet she couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t right.
Relationships: Female Detective/Nathaniel "Nate" Sewell
Series: What Caused the Wound? How Large the Teeth? [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2038954
Comments: 11
Kudos: 27





	1. Between a Rock

**Author's Note:**

> Okay. So the idea of this little AU, snippet spawned as a Halloween fic meant for the 31 Days of Halloween event. A few friends and I were discussing how terrifying Nate would be as a bad guy, and that quickly lead to the idea of Nate being possessed. But real life kind of put this fic on the back-burner until recently and I'm determined to finish it (because toying around with the idea of Dark!UB in general is fun and this became a practice piece for me to try writing more creepy/horror leaning things). 
> 
> This doesn't have a set ending, but the plans I have are not *happy* ones so please, please read at your own risk!

There was a part of Abby, deep down, that knew something was wrong as soon as they’d left. 

Unit Bravo had been sent away on a mission. Something about a demonic infestation a few towns over that proved to be too much to handle for the lower-ranked team originally sent out. Patrol schedules were swapped so Wayhaven was still guarded -so  _ she _ was still guarded, and they were gone.

They’d only been gone for five days. Nothing out of the ordinary. They’d been gone longer before, longer periods of radio silence. Nothing about this should have been difficult for a group like them.

And yet she couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t  _ right _ .

(Five days spent on edge. Like she’d been teetering on a cliff - close to plummeting. A fear that felt more primal than anything else. An internal warning; an innate sense - something buried deep inside everyone, meant to warn people away from danger. Like when a person makes a wrong turn into an unfamiliar street, warning of an unseen danger lurking in every shadow.)

Then, five days and seven hours later, she got a text from Farah.

**_F: Baddies are gone, we’re back :D_ **

~

She told herself she was just overthinking everything during the drive to the Warehouse. A desperate attempt to convince herself that everything was fine. Her team was back and they were  _ safe _ , that’s all that should’ve mattered. Being away from them had probably just caused her anxiety to flare up - caused her to jump to the worst case scenarios. If something had been wrong, Farah would have said so. She almost, almost managed to convince herself that it was only building excitement that had her heart pounding in her chest.

And yet, when she finally walked into the building, she felt like she’d made that wrong turn. Unfamiliar, a threat lurking just out of sight.

She found them all in the living room of the Warehouse -lounging, unwinding in their own ways post-mission. Ava has her spot by the fireplace, stoic as ever as she nods at her entering. Morgan, half obscured by a haze of cigarette smoke, is leaned against a table in the furthest corner. A wave that’s no more than a flick of her wrist the only acknowledgement she gets. Farah is out of her seat as soon as she stepped inside, bounding over with unbridled enthusiasm, ready to talk about everything: the mission, what they’d missed, what she’s been doing. She tried to keep up with her words, but her mind couldn’t settle.

She’d seen Nate on one of the couches in her peripheral, all too aware of the way his eyes had been on her since she’d walked in -honed in on her as soon as she crossed the threshold. Long limbs stretched out, seeming content. Relaxed. She spared a glance in his direction over Farah’s head, and the smile he gave her was as languid as his posture. His leg shifted a bit, she watched the movement - a silent invitation for her to join him; it felt like a calculated  _ temptation _ . She didn’t budge.

When she met his gaze, those brown eyes brought her no warmth.

~

“Are you okay?” Farah asked her once during one of her unannounced drop-bys - something that had become more sporadic since the teams return. Excuses ranging from being too tired to stop by, to being too busy at work became reflex answers. They tumbled from her mouth faster than a breath, and it reached the point she isn’t sure  _ who _ she was trying to convince anymore. 

But she did still try to visit, to stay cordial -and because there was still a part of her that would ache being away from them. She would find Farah usually, who missed her and was always happy to see her. If she wasn’t close enough, she’d seek out Morgan, who would never admit to caring if she came or went but would allow her to sit up on the roof in the evenings all the same. She would even go as far as going to the training room to find Ava if need-be. 

(That deep set fear told her not to dwell alone too long, had her convinced that there was danger just around the bend of those hallways.)

She didn’t seek Nate out. She avoided the library at all cost.

It’s at Farah’s question when she finally cracks. Divulges her concerns to her closest friend: how very  _ not okay  _ everything had been feeling; that nothing felt  _ right  _ since they’d gotten back. She felt like there was a storm brewing on the horizon - a world shattering kind of disaster she could only standby and watch approach. Something  _ evil  _ was coming, and she worried for them all. Worried for  _ Nate. _

She didn’t convey the fear well, she knew that much as soon as she spoke. She struggled with her words on good days, and lately her mind felt broken, scattered to pieces. Farah was kind and let her ramble, a genuine worry on her face replacing the usually teasing glimmer in her eyes. Part of her wished she’d interrupted though and told her to calm down.

She rested a hand on her arm when she was sure her tirade was done. “Abs, everything’s  _ fine _ . You’re doing that thing again when you get in your head too much.” She explained, calm and well-practiced. This was a song and dance they’d done many times before, during the many periods where Abby’s anxiety had sent her spiraling. “You’re okay. We’re okay.  _ Nate’s _ okay. He was a little quiet when he got back, but the mission just dragged on him a bit, you know? Demons like to poke around in your head. Things got a little rough, but he’s good now.” She moved and hugged her then, teased her about Nate missing her being around so much. She could only half-heartedly return the gesture.  


Who was she to argue? If things there were fine, truly and entirely  _ fine _ , then she didn’t have anything to worry about. They all would know better then she would if something was off.

(It isn’t long after that conversation that she stopped going to the Warehouse entirely)

~

People in the town start to go missing. Three in just the span of three weeks. Only one body had been recovered, maimed to the extent it took them days to properly identify who it was. The damage, while so, so much worse, seemed eerily familiar.

That looming storm was here,

~

She nearly slips off the steps of the station in shock when she looks up to see Nate standing there waiting for her. His hands shoved in his pockets, leaning against the railing, there’s a flicker of amusement on his face at her reaction.

“My apologies love, did I startle you?” She doesn’t miss how much he certainly doesn’t  _ sound _ sorry.

She rights herself, tries to laugh it off even as she anxiously grips the guardrail opposite. It doesn’t go unnoticed by him. “A little. I thought- I just wasn’t expecting you.” 

“Hoping to see someone else then?” Despite the smile on his face, there’s a flicker of something in his eyes that makes the hairs on her neck stand on end.

“Not ‘hoping’. Morgan was supposed to be here after my shift, that’s all.” 

“I swapped patrol schedules with her this evening,” He says with a small shrug, “It’s been some time since I’ve seen you.” There’s a disappointment there that seems so genuine, for a second she feels her nerves settling just a little.

“I’m sorry,” She says, and genuinely means it, “I’ve been busy.”

“It’s quite alright. I figured as much, considering everything.” Little by little she finds herself relaxing more as he speaks, so much so that she takes the few remaining steps to come and stand beside him. “I was hoping to steal a bit of your time before walking you to your car.”

“You’re stuck with me a little while longer then,” She chuckles, “I’m walking tonight. My car decided it didn’t want to start this morning.”

“A fortunate coincidence for me,” He smiles at her, but for a split second it feels like there’s something hidden in his words. A secret she wasn’t being let in on. “May I accompany you on your walk home then?” He offers his hand and she takes it without thought, muscle memory and habit and  _ need _ driving her body to move on it’s own.

“Of course you can.”

~

“It’s a nice evening.” Nate says finally, after a long stretch of silence between them. The chill of the evening air is nipping through her jacket; the wind would whip around them, creating noise around them, each new creak and groan making her jump.

(She thinks, at one point after a branch snapping nearby startled her, she caught a glimpse of Nate  _ smiling _ .)

Never once had she felt so uneasy in the town she’d grown up in.

“I guess if you want to call it that.” She mutters. She regrets her decision to cut through the woods. It was supposed to be the faster route home, at least in  _ theory _ , but out here in the dark she felt on edge. Unease creeping up her back, trailing up her spine like icy fingers. It didn’t help that Nate, with her hand still gripped in his, seems content walking slower than ever as if to draw the walk on longer. And normally, under any other time, she would’ve enjoyed the extra few moments alone with him. But now? All she can think about is how much she wants to get to the other side of the woods. “Nothing in the town feels right anymore.”

“Because of the murders.” It’s not a question, and the nonchalance of his tone is enough to make her freeze on the spot. He stops just a step ahead, turning slowly to look back at her.

“ _ Murder _ . We haven’t found bodies to confirm the other two are-” The word  _ dead _ sticks in her throat, like a bitter pill swallowed wrong, “They could still be alive.”

“After this long?” He pursues his lips, casting a long glance to the trees on their right, a look that is beyond out of place on him. Abby becomes acutely aware then of how utterly  _ alone _ they are all the way out here - that fear is back, causing her skin to prickle. “You’re the detective, I’m sure you’re aware of the statistics of these things.”

Her grip on his hand loosens entirely, but he doesn’t drop his grip on her. “That isn’t- That’s not funny.”

“Oh, I’m not trying to be.” He isn’t lying, and, somehow, that’s so much worse.

( _ This isn’t Nate _ . That realization sends a spike of terror coursing through her, threatens to choke her. Nate, the man that loved and missed humanity more than he would ever fully divulge, would never be so callous. Her Nate  _ cared _ \- deeply, for everyone. He’d mourned the loss of Janet Greenland and Garret Hayes as if he’d known them himself. He would never cast away two missing people as if they were  _ nothing _ -)

She tries to tug her hand free then, and it’s a weaker attempt than she wishes - terror and the cold that has long-since seeped through her layers of clothes leave her limbs feeling painfully numb. “Let go of me.” She struggles to find her voice, the words no more than a trembled request than the demand she’d wanted them to be.

“Why?” His head tilts slightly as if truly curious, but the grin on his face gives away his true intention. Coy and cruel - a cat toying with a mouse; predator stalking prey. “I thought we were having a lovely evening.”

“You’re not Nate,” Her voice finds a bit of strength, even as the imposter in front of her laughs. She tries to tug free and it’s grip tightens just to the point of being painful -the joints of her fingers aching. “What are you?”

“I  _ am _ Nate, dearheart.” The endearment makes her flinch, the word sounding like nails on a chalkboard. For a split second though, his voice changes - she still hears Nate, deep and familiar, but there’s something  _ more _ underneath it. Like audio being overlapped - a second voice, even deeper, rumbles under that word.

Pieces are falling into place; dots connecting in ways she’d desperately tried not to consider since all this started. A heavy realization hits her, as cold and overwhelming as a rogue ocean wave. “Those killings-  _ you- _ ” She can’t find the words, and Nate’s grin now makes her think of the Cheshire cat.

“And here I thought you’d gotten over your pathetic stuttering phase.” He’s mocking her now, and she hates that it stings. Hates that sharp little stab because it’s still  _ his voice _ , despite this thing in front of her being something entirely  _ not _ him. 

Still, she forces herself to square her shoulders a bit. Feigning courage she feels she’s severely lacking in this moment. “Why? Why go after the town?” Her words are sharper, stronger now. A flicker of anger flairs in her chest.

“Because they’re easy targets.” His simple answer and the unconcerned shrug that follows fans the flicker, the flame growing - anger is chasing the numbing fear from her limbs. She jerks her hand away, ignoring the sting from having to pry her hand from his grip. His brows raise, but he doesn’t move to grab her again, just shoves his hands into his pockets. Even that action, one that should be so familiar, comes across wrong - a cheap imitation. “I was tired of being  _ underfed _ , and the others needed some kind of distraction.”

(A million questions are rolling through her mind now. He’d -it- fed on the victims -not something that should surprise her, the attack resembled  _ Murphy’s _ mess, but what else had it done when it was out on it’s own? What  _ is _ this thing she’s talking to - a demon that hitched a ride? Or something else entirely?  _ How _ had this happened?)

She settles for one: “Where is Nate?”

Nate-not-Nate watches her now, the smile fading. There’s a flicker of something on it’s face again. A curiosity, or something close to it, before that smugly amused look is back. The grin returns, wider and more menacing. “Right here.”

It won’t drop the facade - but she doesn’t miss the meaning behind those two simple words either. Nate  _ is _ still in there, and that thought is enough to make her heart seize in her chest until it  _ aches _ . Whatever this thing had done, whatever atrocities it had committed in it’s short time here, he had to bear witness to it all.

(He was going to have to see whatever it has planned for  _ her _ . The thought is enough to make her palms sweat)

“What now?” It’s a stupid question, she knows that much. But she’s cornered. Every time she dared to move during their talk, this thing had zeroed in on it - a sharp precision on her every movement, like it was eager.  _ Anticipating _ her trying to run.

“Now,” It speaks slowly, draws the word out. The amusement is gone from it’s eyes -brown but not familiar- and is replaced with unfiltered malevolence, “I’m going to give you a head start. I wouldn’t wish for this game to end  _ too _ abruptly, after all.” 

“What-” Her brain feels like it’s short circuiting, thoughts whirling faster than she can find the words for.

“A single rule, of course.” It doesn’t let her finish, “If you run to that little town of yours, what I did to the others will be a  _ mercy _ compared to what I will do to anyone you run into.”

That threat is enough for her to snap her mouth closed, any questions she might have had dies on her tongue. Instead, she takes a single step away, towards the treeline. She takes another when he doesn’t move from where he’s standing, before turning and taking off in a full blown sprint into the surrounding woods. 


	2. ...and a hard place

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A hunt continues, and Abby bides what little time she has left.

The only blessing on her side, she thinks, is that the wind is shifting.

The trees billow around her, wood creaking and leaves rustling. She  _ hopes _ it helps cover the sound of her own footfalls - masks the noise of her labored breathing that’s making her lungs burn. She hopes it’s enough - pleading, wishing,  _ praying _ to whatever deity that might be listening that the wind is carrying her scent in different directions. She just needs an  _ edge _ \- an advantage in a situation where the desk seems to be stacked entirely against her. 

She ran in the direction of the Warehouse. It’s a far goal; the trip out there can drag on when she’s in her  _ car _ , so trying to reach it on  _ foot _ feels like a pointless endeavor. But without any other options, that seemed like her only hope. If she could just  _ reach _ one of the others she might stand a chance-

She tried to call, at one point. Not long into her mad dash. Jabbing blindly at the screen, refusing to slow, it was Ava she ended up calling. The other woman didn’t get a chance to speak before Abby was gasping, hoping to cram as much information into a single breath as possible.

She got as far as ‘ _ Nate’s not Nate, I need- _ ’ before she was hit from the side. So much force behind the crash it felt like she’d been hit by a  _ truck _ . She hit the ground hard, air and thoughts knocked out of her. She’d barely registered the crushing of glass and plastic before a searing pain in her arm brought everything into sharp clarity. She grasped her wrist, something wet and warm was seeping between her fingers, the sharp smell of  _ copper- _

She turned over onto her back. Even against the dark, shrouded by treetops blocking out the moonlight, she recognized the familiar silhouette of Nate looming over her.

“I believe that’s considered  _ cheating _ .” He - it knelt down then, which brought it closer into view. She wished it hadn’t - she  _ wished _ it had stayed standing, remained a figure in the black of night, because it hurt too much seeing Nate’s face. The lines were blurred, wherever Nate ended and this being began. Nate’s body, his voice, but not his actions. On every logical level, she knew this wasn’t him, not really. But it didn’t make it any easier.

(In that moment, she was  _ scared _ . Of  _ it _ or for herself, she couldn’t be sure. She feared for  _ him _ ; could he see this? Hear what was happening?)

It brought a hand to its mouth, making a show of licking the trail of blood running down its fingers. It scratched her - when it got the phone from her hand it tore into her wrist. The smile returned to its face, something sharp and wicked. She  _ felt _ it growl more than she heard it, a heavy reverberation in her chest. 

“Try again  _ rabbit _ .”

She pushes herself up and  _ runs _ .

She isn’t sure how long she’s been running now. Minutes. Hours. Everything is blurring together now. She’s long since lost her way - the only bits of light she’s been getting is from the moonlight occasionally breaking through the trees. She’d been in a blind panic to get away, she chose a random direction and  _ ran _ and had to hope for the best. But now everything feels spun around.

The bleeding from her wrist has stemmed enough she doesn’t have to apply pressure anymore, but the telltale dizziness she feels tells her she’s lost too much. It’s dragging on her now, like an anchor trying to pull her down. She feels like she’s  _ sinking _ , the only thing grounding her is the aches in her body.

(Familiar. Too familiar. Dark, ruined building - needles -  _ Murphy- _ )

“Abigail.” The wind carries its voice - so much  _ his  _ voice it  _ hurts - _ ushering it along like dead leaves on the forest floor. It echoes, coming from nowhere and everywhere at once until she feels like she’s surrounded by it. It sounds far; far enough to give her a sliver of hope, but still  _ too close _ . She wills her feet to keep moving, just a little  _ faster _ , all she has to do is  _ hold out _ . She just needs to get to the Warehouse, to the others, and they can help. They can  _ fix this- _

“I can smell the exhaustion on you, love.” Concern laces every word. So much so she stops so abruptly she nearly trips over her own feet. It sounds so much like  _ him _ \- tone sweet and familiar, tempting her to slow down. To stop and  _ wait _ and she desperately wants to. She just wants to wait; she just wants to see him

(She’s then reminded of siren songs: luring sailors to their graves. Lures, traps,  _ danger _ -)

“Aren’t you ready to stop?” He’s to her right now, somewhere just out of her line of sight. She desperately scans the trees, looking for a figure that doesn’t belong. Footsteps sound behind her and she twirls, following the noise. The cracking of branches and crunching of leaves underfoot - she’s being  _ circled _ . His voice is...not his. It’s as sickly sweet as antifreeze. “You’ve gotten yourself lost,  _ dearheart. _ ”

It could be right, that’s the worst part. It  _ is _ right. She doesn’t recognize where she is, despite growing up exploring these very woods. She can barely see a foot in front of her. She’d tried in vain to lose it, futile attempts to put distance between them, but all she’d done is work against herself and lost her way. What’s become a race for her life is no more than an amusing jog for this thing, a  _ game _ that she was never meant to win. She can’t help but feel as though she’s simply prolonging the inevitable. 

Another twig snaps, closer this time.

The wind changes.

She picks a new direction. 

(If she’s going to die out here, she isn’t going to let it be  _ easy _ )

~

It catches her with terrifying ease. She never heard it coming - just a gush of air she thought was the wind before she ran full-force into it. Or it crashed into her again, she isn’t sure. Everything blurs: a hand on her throat - she’s slammed back into a tree and pain erupts from her back and head. There’s a crack so loud she isn’t sure if it’s bone or wood. Spots dance in her vision - her ears are ringing-

Then she can’t  _ breathe _ . It has her hoisted up with one arm as if she was nothing more than a ragdoll, forcing her onto the tips of her toes in a desperate scramble to keep some of the pressure off her neck. 

“Your time’s up.” It says with a smile, close enough for her to see. It’s voice still sounds like his, but the smile is too malicious to belong to him. She can’t see anymore brown in those eyes, now as black as obsidian - it could be a trick of the lighting, but it’s easier not to recognize them. “Thank you so much for indulging my little game, love.” The way it purrs the endearment makes her skin crawl.

She claws at its wrist, reaches out with her other hand to try and grab  _ something _ \- ( _ Supernaturals all have weak spots. Here, here - Your best chance is to defend and run -  _ his teachings) - so she aims for its neck. She falters though; she needs and edge but she doesn’t want to hurt  _ him _ -

It grabs her hand with an annoyed sigh before she can gather her composure, snatching it out of the as if it was nothing more than a pestering gnat. It squeezes then, hard, until something snaps and pops and she’s crying out, pain searing up her arm, blurring her vision.

“Are you finished?” It asks with its brows raised. A smug look but a nonchalant tone, as if they were discussing something as mundane as paperwork or the weather. It lets go of her hand and she cradles it against her chest. She can’t look - she doesn’t  _ want to _ \- but she can’t curl three of her fingers. “Or must I break something else to get you to behave?”

It puts just a  _ little  _ more pressure on her neck, fingers and thumb digging in just for darkness to dance at the edge of her vision, her pulse pounding in her ears.

“Could’ve killed- me-” She chokes on the words. She needs to talk, buy herself time - for  _ what _ she isn’t sure anymore. “Weeks- why-?”

“Timing.” It says as if the answer should’ve been obvious to her. “It would have been pointless to try and kill you all outright. I needed time to settle, to dig in.”

She tries to process its words, tries to callback to her readings. So much damn time spent in the library and she still doesn’t feel prepared. 

( _ “Demons aren’t an easy subject to throw yourself into, love.” Nate tries to appease her frustrations with a smile. Another day off, another day the couple had sequestered themselves to the library. He’s settled in one of the arm chairs, reading poetry and classics, and she’s claimed the floor in front of him so she can settle back between his legs, the table in front of her covered in whatever tomes on Supernaturals she could get her hands on. “The idea of ‘demons’ more or less has become an umbrella term, considering the different religions and regions the beliefs span from.” _

_ She huffs, turning another yellowed page with care, unaware that he’s long since set his own aside in favor of watching her. “That doesn’t make learning this stuff any easier. Are there no common threads?” _

_ He runs his hand through her hair, fingers gently working through the curls. “Malevolence. Prideful. Most of them are negative spirits, it’s the history and origins where they differ.”) _

Malevolent and prideful. She doesn’t remember much beyond that.

_ Prideful _ she can work with at least.

“Like a parasite.” She says finally, barking out a laugh that sounds more like a pained wheeze. Her head is fuzzy, drifting too far now to consider that maybe  _ insults _ wasn’t the way to go, but she’s nearly too far gone to care. She doesn’t miss the growl from it. “You- were weak after- you had to make it harder to get rid of you.”

It doesn’t move, and for a brief moment the only sound is the woods around them and her own pulse in her head. Its eyes narrow as if looking her over, and she wonders for a if it’s going to kill her here and now - break her neck and be done with it. That thought doesn’t scare her as much as it probably should. Her chances are seeing the morning light have all but diminished, she knows that much. At least if it killed her now she wouldn’t have to deal with it dragging it out.

(She just prays Nate can’t see this anymore. That he won’t have to watch.)

Instead, the grip on her neck loosens. Not enough to free her, but enough to allow her to greedily gasp for air, it eyes still watching the entire time - devoid, eerily  _ empty _ .

“You are  _ annoyingly _ perceptive for a human.” It says finally, sounding somewhere between annoyed and amused, “The others were difficult, but nothing I hadn’t anticipated. Choosing a vessel like this, stealing one out from under the nose of your Agency, was a calculated risk. A powerful one, if I was cautious.”

It’s talking. It hasn’t killed her and she has it talking. She prods, pushes further - she just has to buy her time for the others. “I- I knew from the beginning though.”

“And yet you couldn’t convince the others,” It grins and she barely manages to keep herself from flinching at the sight, “That lapse of silence written off as recovery was all I needed to  _ learn _ . About him. About all of them. Slipping into their ranks was easy as long as I was careful, but  _ you _ almost gave me away.” A flash of annoyance crosses its face, and she’s waiting for the grip to tighten again, “Apparently, I can mimic his mannerisms. But I can’t replicate whatever connection he had with you.”

More pieces click. That was of dread all those weeks ago, before even stepping into the Warehouse. That internal alarm that went off out of nowhere that something was wrong, was for  _ him _ . He’d always been able to tell when something was wrong with her - he managed to pick up on her emotions faster than  _ she  _ could at times. She never considered the potential that it was a connection that went both ways.

(A connection that might be the only edge she can use)

She levels herself, feigning bravery she didn’t have, before holding the creature’s gaze. She tries not to pay attention to the way her skin crawled, and her hair stood on end. “Nate? You’re in there, I know you are,” Her voice trembles, threatens to crack at that last word - _ what if he isn’t? what if he’s gone? what if what if-  _ “Listen to me: I need you- I need you to come back to me.”

It smiles then -something that is  _ almost _ . Almost familiar, almost recognizable; meant to be enticing and warm. A temptation coiled in barbed wire. It speaks in a purr with only Nate’s voice, “I’m right here, dearheart.”

It’s taunting her. Tormenting her. The thought makes her stomach twist; anger flicking to life, rivaling the desperate fear.

“Fuck you,” She hisses, lip curling, all but baring her teeth. The new surge of defiance causes it to narrow its eyes, a flash of something cold - _ dead and ancient, true evil here- _ before the fingers on her throat curl again, tight enough to make her sputter. Even as it stares her down, even with spots dancing in her vision, the rage grows stronger. “You’re not him, you couldn’t even  _ pretend _ . A human figured you out. I know him-“

“Do you, truly?” His tone is sickly sweet, borderline  _ teasing _ in the way it draws the words out. It tilts its head to one side, scanning her face. “Or do you only know what he  _ wants _ you to know? That careful front?”

It’s talking. It’s talking and it’s loosening the hold on her neck, and she sees an opportunity – that hint of an advantage she’s needed. She tries to regulate her breathing. “I know he’s  _ good _ . I know-

“Nothing.” It cuts her off, cruel grin so wide she wonders how its face hasn’t torn, “You know  _ nothing _ , do you?” It’s poking. Prodding for information. It can’t read her  _ mind _ but any supernatural would be able to hear the way her heart is thudding heavily against her ribs. It’s – it’s hitting too close to the mark now. She doesn’t  _ want _ to hear more, but she needs to buy herself  _ time _ .

_ Demons are prideful creatures _ . Keep it talking, basking in its suspected victory. “I know enough.”

“I’m in his head,  _ rabbit _ .” That nickname sticks – stings in a way that makes her skin crawl. Wrong,  _ wrong  _ – “He’s lived centuries. Lifetimes. And you know  _ nothing _ . Tell me, if you knew what he has done, would you have been so quick to trust him?”

(Her jaw sets, disgust setting in.  _ Rage _ – overwhelming and all-consuming, her thoughts aren’t running together)

It leans in, closes the gap that had been between them until its cheek is pressed against her own, and it takes all her willpower to keep from trembling at how  _ cold _ it felt, “If you knew what he was truly capable of, would you have been so quick to invite him into your sad existence?” She balls her hand up – the one that hasn’t been crushed, that she can still feel the fingers on – nails digging into her palms until it stings. “Would you have invited him into your  _ bed _ ?”

That cord of building tension finally  _ snaps _ , and she doesn’t think before she moves.

She swings her left hand up between them with as much momtem and force she can find in the small amount of space, catching it in the neck between her forefinger and thumb - a sloppy mimic to a move Ava taught her; she’s not left-handed and she doesn’t have much room but it does  _ something  _ because it actually  _ wheezes _ \- just as she turns her head towards its face and  _ bites _ .

(She’s not thinking clearly - not a plan well thought out. A panicked,  _ angry _ kind of knee jerk reaction that leads to her biting its cheek as hard as she can. Its yell sounds more akin to a roar, and it leaves her ears ringing-)

Then she’s hitting the ground again, having been dropped by the creature in the surprise attack. Her body jolts, everything  _ aching _ and the air is knocked from her lungs - she barely has a chance to reorient herself with up and down before she’s trying to force herself to get back up again. 

“I  _ suppose _ one lesson wasn’t enough,” It snarls, hand locking around her leg like a vice, just below her right knee. It yanks her back, sends her toppling to her side this time.

More pressure. A twist. A crack so loud it sounds more like a  _ gunshot _ echoing in the trees.

Pain - too much,  _ so much- _

(It shattered her knee. Squeezing until it shattered in its palm like it was as fragile as glass)

-and she feels her consciousness slipping. 

Hands. She feels hands.

Turned onto her back. A hand on the back of her neck, another under her chin - 

_ Nate. It’s Nate. Everything’s okay now. _

-tilting her head back. She’s asking him for help that he doesn’t seem to want to give.

_ Not helping? Why? _

Lips on her neck, tracing old scars. Warm. Slow. Reveling.

_ Nate? _

A rumble of a growl. A predator. Hunger.

_ please- _

It isn’t gentle when it finally breaks the skin. It doesn’t need to be, the fight has long left her, she isn’t a problem anymore. It tears into her, marking over a mark from a vampire it knows but  _ doesn’t _ . Memories that are not its own.

(There’s a pang of  _ something  _ \- panic. Desperation. Sorrow. Emotions that are also not its own. Its a weak feeling, the thread between between  _ host _ and  _ passenger _ had begun to wear thin for days now) 

She barely whimpers when her skin is torn, and it’s mildly disappointing - the screams, the  _ fear _ are sometimes the best part of it all. 

The effect of the blood is  _ instantaneous _ . So much  _ more _ than it could have prepared itself for. 

Once it’s had its fill, it leaves her there for the others to find.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for sticking around!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for taking the time to read, I hope you enjoyed! As always, kudos and comments are super appreciated!


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